Fallen Hero: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 10)

by Wayne Stinnett

  I grinned. “So moving around a lot is important for us?”

  She slugged my shoulder.

  I knew that they could match the ballistics to the gun I found, and that would put James and the killer there, linking the two murders to the one spot James was surveying. Proof that both murders took place at the same spot would make it more likely that it was just one killer.

  Still a few miles from Man of War Harbor, with the sun nearing the western horizon beyond, I slowed the Revenge to idle speed. There weren’t any clouds to the west, but a thin line of high clouds stretched off to the northwest, the end lit up in a fiery orange-red like a glowing cigar tip.

  “Have you ever seen the green flash?” I asked Devon.

  “Heard about it,” she replied.

  “Conditions are good. Just as the top of the sun is about to slip below the horizon, sometimes it looks like a little inverted teardrop of it breaks loose and hangs on the edge of the world, then it flashes green, before it disappears.”

  “You’ve seen this?” she asked doubtfully, but sat up higher in the seat anyway.

  “A few times. It’s a rare sighting.”

  Just before the water seemed to reach up and grasp the bottom of the sun, I shifted to neutral and shut off the engines. The only sound was the gentle lapping of small waves against the bow as the Revenge drifted forward.

  “They say if you make a wish and the green flash appears, your wish’ll come true.”

  Slowly, the great orange orb slipped lower and lower, seeming to flatten out at the bottom. Its fading light illuminated the high clouds overhead, changing them into pink and yellow cotton candy. I glanced over at Devon just as she closed her eyes. Her mouth moved a little, as if she were whispering something. When she opened her eyes, the light from the setting sun made them look like amber glass. Devon’s breath seemed to catch in her throat for a second as the top of the sun slipped below the horizon without fanfare.

  “Doesn’t happen all the time,” I said.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a sunset like that,” Devon said. “Thanks for taking the time.”

  “I try to take life out of gear about this time every day and just coast, while watching the sun go down.”

  “Coast, huh?” Devon turned toward me, the reflected light of the high, wispy clouds shining on her skin. “Seriously, though, if I don’t get some medium-rare protein soon, you’re gonna have to carry me.”

  I started the engines and put the boat in gear. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Contacting the harbor master, I got a slip assignment and asked for a dock hand to help with tying up. I also called Lawrence. Once we were tied up, I paid for the slip for one night and a possible second night.

  “Stay and watch the boat,” I told Finn, after he’d returned from the only tree near the dock. “I’ll bring you back something.”

  Devon was carrying her gym bag with the evidence in it. As she and I reached the foot of the pier, Lawrence’s big, black Crown Vic rolled to a stop and Billy got out.

  “We’ve been having a good time,” he said. “Lawrence has been teaching me the finer points of being a Key West cabbie and showing me around the island.”

  “We’re going to the sheriff’s office,” I told Lawrence, as I held the back door open for Devon.

  “Seems kinda weird,” Devon said, climbing into the backseat. “Taking evidence in with the possible accused driving the car.”

  Lawrence turned in his seat and smiled at Devon. “You’ll find di right mon,” he said. “Yuh seem like a very bright young lady.”

  She laughed as I sat down next to her and Billy got back in the front seat. “Follow the evidence, huh?”

  “Detective Morgan called me a few minutes ago,” Billy said. “He’s been watching security camera footage from all over. Did you know that just about every bar in town has a sidewalk cam? Anyway, the footage meshed with Lawrence’s version of making his rounds that afternoon. He was definitely here in Key West when the murders occurred.”

  “Wonder why he didn’t call me,” Devon said, taking her phone out of her purse as Lawrence turned left on Eaton Street. “Ah, he must have called when I didn’t have a signal out there.” She tapped the screen and put the phone to her ear. I could make out the tinny sound of the voicemail. It was short.

  “He confirms that,” she said, putting the phone back in her purse. “He also said to take the evidence to the lab, that he’s going home and not to bother him until morning.”

  “So, what do you tell folks who get in the taxi and find two cabbies?” I asked.

  “I’m a driver in training,” Billy said, with a grin.

  A few minutes later, Lawrence stopped in front of the big government building on Stock Island. “Wait here,” Devon said, as she got out of the car. “It’ll only take a few minutes to check this in and get the forensics people working on it.”

  After Devon walked off, Billy turned in his seat. “Why are we waiting for her?”

  “We’re going out for steak and beer,” I said.

  “We? As in, all of—”

  “No,” I replied. “We, as in me and her. I want you to stay with Lawrence until we get a handle on this.”

  “Not a problem, Kemosabe,” Billy said. “Just that a steak sounds good, right about now.”

  “I usually eat ’bout dis time, too,” Lawrence added with a grin.

  “I’ll be sure to tip you enough to cover your meals,” I said. “Someplace other than where we’re going.”

  Billy turned his head and grinned. “Ain’t she a little young?”

  “She’s maybe eight years younger than me,” I replied, watching Devon walk back toward the car. “Not like she’s a schoolgirl or anything.”

  “Outback okay with you?” Devon asked, sliding into the backseat.

  “I thought you said you were hungry,” I replied. “Best you’ll get there is an eight-ounce sirloin.”

  “You know a better place?”

  “The Strip House, Lawrence,” I said.

  Fifteen minutes later, Lawrence pulled to the curb at the south end of Simonton Street and we got out. I handed Lawrence two hundred-dollar bills, which he of course tried to refuse. I finally convinced him that it was to cover the fare and Billy’s meals for the next couple of days. I wanted Billy with him day and night.

  Inside, Devon and I both ordered the sixteen-ounce New York strips, baked potatoes, and draft beers. Halfway through the meal, Devon’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and answered it.

  “What’d you find out, Mitch?”

  She listened for a few minutes, said thank you, and ended the call.

  “That was Mitchel Bailey,” she said, attacking her steak again. “Our top forensics guy. I asked him to look at the pictures on the camera, do the ballistics test, and look at the sand you collected first. No prints on the gun or the camera. The only pictures on the camera were of the bottom, each one framed by red and white pipe.”

  “Photographic survey,” I said.

  “Mitch said the last picture on the memory card was the underside of two boats. A big one and a smaller one.”

  “The killer’s boat,” I said, spearing a piece of meat. “If we can find it, an underwater picture of it, could be matched to that, right?”

  Devon nodded. “You catch on fast. It’s all about matching one thing to another, putting events, people, and objects together in a timeline.”

  “The gun?”

  “Ballistic tests positively matched the gun you found as the one that killed Isaksson. And the serial number matches your friend’s registration. He’s lucky he was on those security cameras.”

  “What about the sand?” I asked.

  “You hit a homer, Gunny. The micro-organisms in the sand you collected are a visual match, too. It’s been sent off for DNA analysis, but we probably won’t have the report back for at least a week.”

  I swallowed a bite of my steak, washing it down with the beer. “I thought DNA testing was
done in just a few hours.”

  Devon wiped her mouth, shaking her head. “Only on TV,” she said. “In real-life, a fast turn-around on a major case will take several days. Plant DNA related to a murdered diver? No, that’s going to be a week at the earliest.”

  I took the last bit of my potato skin and swirled it around in the juices on my plate, then chewed it slowly, while I thought. “So some unknown person went out to where Isaksson was diving,” I said. “He shoots James, and then dives down to murder Jennifer. Why? A crime of opportunity?”

  Devon washed her last bite down and wadded her napkin on her plate. “A random act of violence and the perp just happens to be the one that stole Mister Lovett’s cash box and gun? And then just happens to leave it on the boat?”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed. “Way too many coincidences.”

  “A more likely scenario would be that someone who Lawrence pissed off, stole his gun and money box, then decided to frame him for a double murder.”

  I shook my head. “I’m betting you could turn this rock upside down, shake it, and not find a single person with any kind of grudge against the man.”

  “He knows something that he’s not telling us.” She said it as though it were a proven fact.

  “How do you know this?”

  Devon smiled. “You’re not the only one good at reading peoples’ moral compasses.”

  “I’ve known Lawrence for several years and I’ve never known him to lie.”

  “Could be something he doesn’t even know he knows,” Devon said thoughtfully. “I get the sense that this thing goes a lot deeper than just two dead divers. Could be a rival treasure hunter or cab company.”

  I thought about that for a moment. I knew first-hand how millions of dollars’ worth of treasure can change a person. And there were treasure hunters out there with far fewer scruples than most people.

  “There is someone else involved,” I said. “Lawrence’s silent partner in the treasure hunt.”

  “The computer techs didn’t find any deleted emails where he discussed the treasure hunt with anyone.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “Lawrence is in his late sixties and his partner is at least eighty, a World War Two Vet. They probably communicate with old rotary phones.”

  “You know who he is? This silent partner?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know who it is. Have Morgan bring you to get your car tomorrow about noon. I’ll arrange for Lawrence and his partner to both be at the Anchor, ready to tell all.”

  Devon looked at her watch. “Wow, it’s after ten already.”

  “You have someone to get home to?”

  She smiled. “Not a soul.”

  Harley slammed his desk phone in the cradle. He’d been trying to call his brother since nine o’clock and for four hours his calls had gone straight to voicemail, like Duke had turned his phone off.

  More likely, he broke it, Harley thought. There was a knock on the door. “Yeah!”

  The door opened, and Brandy stuck her head in. “That creep Joaquin Hernandez is here, Harley.”

  “Take him to the VIP room and make him happy.”

  “C’mon, Harley,” Brandy said, pouting. “He smells.”

  Harley pulled his wallet out and took two hundred dollars from it. Extending the bills, he said, “Joaquin is a hard-working man. I need his eyes out there on the water every day. Which means he needs to leave here happy tonight.”

  Brandy entered the office, dressed like all the dancers when they were on the floor: high heels, panties, and a skimpy negligee. She snatched the bills from his hand. “This is the last time I’m gonna do him, Harley. He tastes the same as he smells.”

  As Brandy opened the door to leave, Duke stepped inside, forcing her to squeeze past him. “Where the hell have you been?” Harley asked. “Close the door.”

  “We got a problem, Harley.”

  “What kinda problem? Did you run that boater off, like I told you to?”

  “That’s the problem,” Duke said, sitting in one of the chairs in front of Harley’s desk. “There was a cop on the boat.”

  “A cop?” All kinds of scenarios popped into Harley’s head.

  Duke went on to tell his brother about the big fishing boat, the cop getting the drop on him, the shotgun blasting a hole in the boat, and his ordeal in getting back to civilization.

  “Did it sink?”

  “No,” Duke replied. “I got it stashed a few miles from the marina.”

  “Good. Taking it back to the marina is asking for trouble we don’t need right now.”

  Harley thought for a moment. If the cop got the registration number and even half a look at Duke, they’d be snooping around the marina very soon.

  “What’s the number of the marina?” Harley asked.

  Duke dug through his wallet, which thankfully he’d left on the boat when he went aground. He took out a business card and handed it to his brother.

  “I need a new phone,” Duke said. “Mine got wet.”

  Harley rolled his eyes and pulled the bottom left drawer open. In it were half a dozen boxes of brand new prepaid phones. He took one out and slid it across his desk.

  Duke was amazed at how easily Harley spun a story about an engine fire while the two of them had been out night fishing. He threatened to sue the marina owner, since they’d barely escaped with their lives. By the time he hung up, it sounded like Harley could have gotten the marina guy to pay him to keep him from going to the cops.

  Harley hung up the phone. “That’s taken care of. He’s gonna report the boat was stolen, and file it with his insurance. That’s what he’ll tell the cops, if they come looking. But you gotta get back up there and get it sunk for real, though. If the cops find it, they’re sure to connect you.”

  “Right now?” Duke asked. “I ain’t had anything to eat since this morning.”

  “No, wait till after we close,” Harley said. “I gotta make a cash drop and I want you with me. Tomorrow, I need you to find Waldo. He didn’t bring in his front money today.”

  Duke grinned. Harley knew it made the kid feel good about himself to be the only one that Harley trusted when he went to the bank to make a night drop. And he truly was good at hunting people down, almost like a savant.

  An hour later, the music died and the lights came on in the bar. There were only a handful of drunk fishermen and tourists still in the place. Duke and his weightlifting buddy Ray, who worked part time as a bouncer, herded the drunks toward the door.

  Harley was at the bar, going over the receipts with Kenny, when Jasmine came out of the dressing room, ready to go home. Whose home, they hadn’t discussed yet.

  “You gonna be long?” Jasmine asked.

  “Maybe an hour,” he replied, inhaling the citrus smell of her perfume. “I have to go to the bank first. I’ll call you a cab and you can hang out at my place till I get there?”

  “Hang out by the pool or on the porch?” she asked, her lips pouting.

  Harley dug in his pocket and handed her the spare key to his house. “The pool, the bedroom, or even the kitchen,” he said. “I’m gonna be hungry for a lot of things when I get there.”

  Taking the key, Jasmine dropped it in her purse with a wink. Harley motioned to Kenny for the phone. The bartender lifted it from below the bar and turned it toward Harley, sliding a business card from a cab company across the bar.

  Harley spoke on the phone for a moment and hung up. As Jasmine started to turn toward the back door, he stopped her. “Wait at the back table,” he said. “He’ll blow the horn when he pulls up and I’ll walk you out.”

  “Well, aren’t you the gallant horny old goat,” Jasmine said, walking to the elevated back table.

  “None of my business, Boss,” Kenny said, his tone low, so the dancer couldn’t hear. “But you’re never gonna get that key back.”

  “You’re right,” Harley said, watching Jasmine’s ass as she went up the steps. “It’s none of your business.”
/>   Duke returned and said, “All locked up, Harley.”

  Kenny loaded the last stacks of cash into Harley’s bag and closed it, handing him a slip of paper. “Fourteen-hundred and change in credit card receipts, and an even fifteen grand in cash, mostly from your street team. I got a couple hundred in small bills and change still in the cash drawer for tomorrow.”

  A car horn honked twice from behind the building. Harley picked up the bag and nodded at the bartender. “All this money was from the legal sale of beer, wine, and booze, Kenny.”

  “Whatever you say, Boss,” Kenny replied, as Duke and Harley started toward the back.

  Jasmine was two steps ahead, teasing Harley with every step, all the way to the back door. Outside, Harley handed the bag to Duke, along with his car keys. “Start her up, I’ll be with you in a second.”

  Duke, took the keys and started toward Harley’s car, as the cab driver powered the dark tinted window down. He smiled at Harley and Jasmine. “You order di cab?”

  Harley leaned and looked inside the cab at the driver and another man in the front seat. “I’d hoped it’d be a private ride.”

  “Double di security,” the black driver said. “Dis is a new mon, I been showing him di ropes.”

  Harley gave the driver the address and opened the back door for Jasmine. Handing the driver a twenty, he said, “It’s just a few blocks away. Wait at the curb until she gets inside?”

  “Di lady will be safe inside before I leave, suh.”

  Harley had a thought. Cab drivers knew a lot of people, and saw and heard a lot of things. “Say,” he said, leaning a forearm on the roof of the car. “You wouldn’t happen to know of a fishing boat named Gaspar’s Revenge, would you? A big offshore fishing boat?”

  The driver smiled, his big white teeth seeming to glow in his black face. “Never heard of a boat by dat name, mon.”

  Harley started to reach for the back door handle, when the long-haired guy in the passenger seat spoke up. “I know that boat.”

  Harley opened the door and Jasmine slid in, her bare thighs below her short cut-off jeans squeaking on the vinyl seats. He closed her door, then leaned down to look at the man who spoke.